Are You An Angel, My Love?
by CPCoulter Writes My Canon
Summary: Part One in a Juliark Trilogy- BASED OFF CP COULTER'S DALTON. Clark frowned, leaning up to inspect the blossoming black mark on Julian's back. "Where did you get that?"


It had started off perfectly innocently; barely any different to how any other after filming gaming session began. Shooting had wrapped for the day and Clark and Julian had headed for Clark's trailer, dripping sweat and panting exhaustion.

In the blinding summer heat, the two young men had lounged back against the cushions, gaming controllers in hand.

"I'm going to kick your ass, J."

"Never mind the fact that you lost by a one thousand point margin last time; but yeah Saint Clark, you're going to kick my ass."

The words dripped with their customary sarcasm, the infamous smirk shining off Julian's features.

Seven games later, Clark throw down his controlled with a pained groan, Julian's laughter ringing in his ear.

"Stick to your talents, Popstar. You've reached a new losing streak, even for you."

"Hey, I won that one game!" Clark defended, shoving the smaller actor over.

"Yeah, because I had a coughing fit in the middle of it. I was kicking your ass before that happened."

The banter continued, lighthearted and playful. It was so natural between the two of them; they had grown up in the same world all their lives. But something bothered Clark as Julian snuggled back into the cushioned cough, curling up into a cat-like position and shutting his eyes.

"Why are you here, J? If you don't mind me asking…"

One eye opened, "We're shooting a film, Clark. It would be kind of hard for me _not _to be here."

Clark laughed, sinking back into the couch, dragging his long fingers through golden waves of hair.

"I mean _here. _Last I heard, you bailed on playing the role. They were going to get Taylor Launter to replace you. Then suddenly they're telling me to prep for my first shoot with you. Not that I mind," he added hastily, smirking in a shockingly Julian manner, "I do enjoy these charming moments we have together. But why did you sign back on?"

There was a silence, a sudden pause in the conversation; and that was enough for Clark to know there is something Julian was keeping from him.

"Julian, what's going on?"

The boy in question curved his lip up into a forced smile, "You're trying to find an excuse to stop playing because you know you're going to get your pansy ass kicked again; that's what's going on."

Temporarily accepting defeat, Clark sighed heavily, picking up his controller, "I was going easy on you."

A derisive snort from Julian's direction, "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Popstar."

Hours bled by, the late afternoon heat making itself known, plastering clothes to sweat slicked skin, warming orange light painting the sky. Julian fell back with a sigh, dragging his hand through his hair.

"It's hot."

Clark "hmmm'ed" his agreement, staring bitterly at the coloured screen, delightfully informing him of his three thousand point loss. Plastered to his forehead, blond locks were pushed aside as he tugged the white muscle tee over his head, flopping back to sprawl beside Julian.

Toned muscles rippled with the movement, well shaped v lines disappearing into the rough blue jeans. Julian couldn't help but drag his eyes down Clark's body, drinking in the view.

Without thinking, he seized the hem of his pale blue shirt, tugging it away. The rush of air on his skin made him sigh in relief.

"Okay…that's better."

Clark frowned, sitting up on his arms to inspect the blossoming black mark on Julian's back.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, searching Julian's bare chest for more.

The actor frowned slightly, his eyes glazing over. He didn't even have to ask what Clark was referring to; he couldn't believe he'd actually forgotten.

"I got thrown into a piano."

Clark's eyes narrowed, the colour darkening rapidly, "By _who?_"

A different boy came into his mind; blond hair; pale green eyes and a smirk that cut like a poisoned blade….

"Nobody of importance."

Clark's gentle hand curled around Julian's upper arm, turning him around to inspect the bruise more carefully, his stomach churning at the sight.

It stretched across his lower back, just underneath his spine. Black and purple spotted together in an ugly pattern, tinged green and fading yellow at it the edges. Small bruises dotted his hips, fading into a sick yellow.

"How long have you had this?"

"Two weeks, three days." Julian's voice was thick, as though he was trying in vain to hold back tears.

"Who did this?"

"Nobody of-"

"Julian," Clark interrupted him, tone soft and welcoming, "Who did this?"

The warmth of his palms pressed to Julian's skin, the concern in his dark blue eyes, errant strands of long hair caressing his eyelashes, blinked away by the popstar. Julian felt safe, for the first time in a long time. His lips parted, tone wavering.

"….Logan."

Clark was not the violent type by any means; he preferred rational thinking, talking out problems, finding the best solution. But the distance in Julian's voice, the tears gathering in his eyes and the memory painted across his back made Clark's stomach burn.

He knew that name. True; he only had an old photo of Julian and his classmates to put a face to it, but the name came associated with more than just a head of blond hair. That name was tied to a caller ID that never went unanswered; to mumbled words in Julian's sleep; to a friendship with a dark haired boy Julian was so often arguing with over the phone.

Deep pools of blue stared back into Julian's eyes, unwilling to break the intense gaze.

"J…why did you let him do that to you?"

"I..I thought I loved him."

A dozen questions flung through Clark's mind, each building upon the other; but one strong basis held them all together.

"Loved him?"


End file.
